Chaos
by cut up angel wings
Summary: Stop, stop, stop," I can feel my own little breaths on my arms, scarred arms and skin heavy with sin. Ragged breathing, recognized as my own, and tears wrenched their salty existence from my lashes. (Rating for language and adult situations. MWPP.)
1. afoul

**[cha0s.]**

_the world has forsaken my girl._

pre; afoul.

_ainslee._

            He blinked; slow and steady. He was always like that.

            I wanted to hurt him, hurt him like he hurt me. Everything he had ever said to me, all of the good moments – they meant nothing now but a few bullet-hole wounds in my heart. The gun was still aimed and firing.

            The world blared into perspective, respectively so, and my hands hit my ears with remarkable force. "Stop…"

            "I need to tell you," his voice says in desperation; I squeeze my eyelids closed tightly. His unusually graceful, unusually gentle hands scrabble to pull mine down.

            "Stop, stop, stop," I can feel my own little breaths on my arms, scarred arms and skin heavy with sin. Ragged breathing, recognized as my own, and tears wrenched their salty existence from my lashes.

            "Ainslee, _please_…" Shame; that's what his voice is. Shameful.

            "Stop, no!" I bury my face into the crook of my arm; into the scars. The stupid, heavy skin; naïve transgressions. The burden of disturbance.

            "Ains, listen. Please, you've just _got_ to understand…"

            At this, eyes open wide, and I glance up at him furiously; painfully. It's somewhat of a grim realization to find the same elemental feelings in his own blue eyes. His hands remove mine from my ears in a sad kind of delicacy.

            When I fail to resist his tempting touch, he takes this as a good omen, and reaches out to brush his fingers down my cheek. He gingerly rubs a tear from the soft skin. "It's not that we could never be in love. Love is not a crime, therefore it is not wrong. But we – that is to say, you and I – could…never be together as a whole. I-I only wish that I could take everything back. Because being with you would mean breaking you, and despite our feelings currently, I have no intention of breaking you."

            I identify the grief lurking in his voice but I am ignorant. "No – I know why we can't be together and it doesn't have a damn thing to do with me. At least, not in the sense of 'breaking me'." The words are burning the sky down; thus far, I have resorted to choking them out, helplessly sputtering from time to time. "You keep things from me. Big things, things I ought to know. Yet you can't bring yourself to trust me enough to tell me."

            "No, that's not–"

            I prolong, hearing him but not quite understanding the words. "So maybe you should stop being so damn frightened to trust me if you really love me." I swipe at my eyes and bravely

            _(foolishly, a voice reprimands)_

            square my shoulders. "By the way, you don't have to worry about breaking me."

            He stutters. I ignore him.

            Coldly push by, long strides to the staircase. Pause, turn.

            And then truth; I hit him with it scathingly.

            _"You already have."_


	2. bravado

one; bravado.

_sirius._

_three weeks earlier._

            I am vaguely amused when she comes in late again; late, late, late. I was not in the least surprised. She donned no shiny badge to tolerate as an excuse; therefore, it was detention for her. The poor girl.

            People snicker as she takes her seat; she hushes them with a well-practiced glare.

            This was ultimately the one girl that every boy at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was likely to avoid. It's not that she was bad-looking (she most certainly was not; James deemed her mediocre but my opinions of her ran much higher) with her long dark hair and foreboding midnight-blue eyes. It's that her rash attitude turned away even _my_ handsome charm.

            Not that I'm egotistical or anything, really. It's everyone else that seems to think so highly of me.

            "Miss Bordeaux, do you at least have some sort of excuse?"

            I know the answer to this one, Professor McGonagoll. Shall I raise my hand?

            "Not really, no," she retorts and the teacher looks shocked regardless of how many times she has received this answer.

            I lean back in my chair and smirk at the boy next to me; James Potter was undoubtedly as captivated by her behaviour as I. She was a general rule-breaker; nothing too harsh, but she accepted detentions with the wave of a hand, as did we.

            "Nothing that could possibly rid me of you for at least one night?" McGonagoll questions further, and I stifle a chuckle with my hand. What, precisely, is she attempting to accomplish?

            "Oh, Professor McGonagoll, you know how much I enjoy our little nightly chats." Ainslee Bordeaux's tone is careless; her hands clasp at the nape of her neck, hidden under the curtain of straight tresses, and she's teetering dangerously on the back legs of her chair.

            McGonagoll sighs. "Five points from Gryffindor."

            Another five down the drain. Once again, unsurprising, and no one has the bizarre grimace on their face anymore. That had been in first year, when the tips of Ainslee's hair were hot pink. I was particularly fond of the golden tips she bore this year (the colour changed correspondingly with the years passed and we were on our sixth one).

            A finger roughly stabs me in the back and I knit my brow but turn to face Remus Lupin, sitting alongside Peter Pettigrew. "Moony, what?"

            He tips his head toward the table, sandy hair falling treacherously into his blue eyes. Irritably, he shakes it away from his face and raps on a piece of parchment on the desk.

            My own grey eyes stray to it; the map. _Our_ map, our _secret_ map, one of two things we worked increasingly hard at for our six years together in Hogwarts. I almost slap him upside the head for having it lying so blatantly out in the open.

            Suddenly, my attention snaps to the only coloured dot on said parchment. The one that reads 'Ainslee Bordeaux' and I knew unerringly what the horrific red ink meant.

            Allow me to explain: this map is the Marauder's Map and we made it. 'We' refers to the Marauders, conscripted of myself, James, Remus and Peter. In all honesty, they are the only people I can trust my life to.

            James, though hopeless and occasionally arrogant, is good-natured and has a sense of humor to rival my own. Even his stupid habit of rumpling his already-messy dark hair was something I have picked up myself, ashamedly admitted. I resent him ever so slightly for that. But he is my best friend like no other person could be. Beneath the brilliant mind we share, and our similar loves for pranking and Quidditch among other things, is the strongest camaraderie I will ever know.

            Remus is a natural friend. I mean, he is unconditional. I mean…well, I mean he is supportive and significantly faithful. He began as shy and timid but we soon rid him of that and now he is equally as much of a troublemaker as James and I. He is one of my closest friends and is there for me, through and through.

            Peter has never been broken of his habitually shy nature. Sometimes he stuttered, sometimes he appeared blank, and sometimes he was plain stupid. But Peter, unlike anyone else we have ever met, is determined to better himself. He is dead-set on enhancing every single one of his good qualities and though we don't approve of the things he does to reach his goals, we still support his decisions. He is, after all, one of us.

            We have nicknames for each other, the four of us. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs – all based on something that is rarely discussed more than once a month between us. I, Sirius Black, am the one they call Padfoot. Moony, as you may have already noticed, is Remus. Peter is Wormtail and that leaves Prongs to James.

            Regrettably, I would tell you more, but I am once again distracted by Moony's incessant drumming. He wants me to say something.

            The only thing I can get out is the obvious fact: "She's bleeding," I say dumbly.

            Remus let his head hit the table abruptly; he was exasperated. "Thank you, Professor."

            The map, superbly created and charmed between the four of our virtuoso minds, shows every inch of Hogwarts castle and there are no exceptions to the rule, such as secret passageways. We have made sure to leave nothing out. It also shows every person in the building and on the grounds and their exact location. The ink changes colour sometimes; like now, with Ainslee's dark red-inked blotch. It stands for blood and I have only witnessed that once before. The map is intelligent in its own right and understands when people are in danger.

            I look over at Ainslee; nothing seems out of place. She is acting just as normally as she could. Normal in _her_ definitive way, I suppose, for she happens to be doodling on her textbook and gazing out the window.

            Remus is watching me again, waiting for a better response so I give him one. "It can't be anything that serious; she doesn't seem bothered by anything." A sudden thought strikes me and I wrinkle my nose. "It may be girl-time."

            Remus' face drains of colour and he groans a bit loudly.

            "Mr. Black, Mr. Lupin?" McGonagoll is waiting patiently for me to face forward in my seat, so I do. "_What_, in Merlin's name, are you boys up to this time?"

            "Nothing," we answer in perfect unison; I can practically feel laughter radiating off of James' being.

            She frowns at us but returns to her lesson.

            "Mischief managed," Remus whispered, tapping the parchment with his wand. The ink hemorrhages from it and I can't resist grinning with pride at our creation.

            If Transfiguration was any longer, I think I would have to asphyxiate myself, thanks very much. We're all quite fortunate it ended when it did. I've always loved Transfiguration and I'm rather good with it (good may be an understatement of sorts) but McGonagoll has a way of making everything seem so very…novice.

            "Padfoot, come no, what's on your mind?" James lightly punches my arm and I return the gesture.

            "Who says anything is on my mind?"

            "What did you see on the map?"

            I hesitate and, however concise the argument is, debate telling him. "Bordeaux is in a right bloody state and I mean it. Time of the month, I s'pose?"

            James' hazel eyes grow wide in a purely priceless expression and I laugh. "You wanted to know," I shrug, entering the Great Hall for lunch. Remus and Peter are trailing a bit behind us, obviously discussing the same subject matter but in a more serious manner. Sometimes I worry that they give James and I grief because we're not as serious as they are. Or it may be because they're trying to deflate our egos.

            Wait, we can't possibly be _that_ bad.

            However, that is only my reasoning, and I'm almost positive that my reasoning accounts for nothing.

            For some unbeknownst cause, we're all awfully quiet during lunch. More than likely, it's lack of sleep. We never sleep much; perhaps it's how all sixteen-year-old boys live. Tainted and sleepless.

            Something cold closes around my heart when Ainslee comes into the Great Hall; it's a suspiciously strange feeling, not quite a good one, but not horrible either. It's similar to something like familiarity.

            She takes a seat a little ways down from us, putting space between herself and other human life. I think she does it out of instinct. She's never been directly rude to me except for the time I desperately tried to win a bet that a boy 'could _too_ get her interested'. James won that bet, if you were wondering.

            Besides that day, she seemed indeed bearable and friendly, if nothing else. She was devoid of friends because she took up a defensive stance against teachers. She appeared to be entirely too uncomfortable with adults.

            A book hit me relatively hard in the face and I flinch, turning to take a swing at James' cackling face. Stupid prat. "What d'you want?" I grumble after missing him by mere inches.

            "Dunno, just enjoy distracting you sometimes." The looking James' eyes gives him away and I immediately become suspicious; the sly git is always up to something or other. Part of the reason we get on so well.

            "_Do_ share."

            "Share what?"

            "Whatever you're thinking."

            "I don't think."

            "You don't think in a smart way, you mean."

            "Shut up."

            "Make me."

            Another flurry of fists and moments later, we are calm again. Things have been and always will be this way between James and I. To be frank, I wouldn't have it any other way. We've never fought in a way that could not be solved.

            "You two have some problems that need to be worked out," a voice sniffs from above us. I know who it is but I tip my head backwards anyway, eyeing the tall freckly redhead.

            Lily Evans lifts her nose in the air, scrutinizing us. I glance at James, who has gone quite still, then smirk at her. "Good afternoon, Miss Evans. How are you feeling on this lovely summer day?"

            "I _was_ feeling quite wonderful, Black, thanks for asking. But I rather fancy a hot shower right now – to cleanse myself of your presence," she adds explanatively.

            Well. Not quite the response I was expecting, but I can work with that. "Make sure you wash out your ears rather well; my presence sometimes lingers there."

            She scowls.

            I grin.

            James hits himself in the face.

            "What?" I ask him innocently as she stalks away. "Was it something I said?"

            He simply glares at me. I just return this with feigned confusion; I know why he's acting like this.

            See, James has had an awful crush on Lily since first year. Unfortunately, she has never taken the time to notice him – well, that's a bit of a lie. She _has_, but she's always noticing him at the worst moments: when he's being a haughty sod.

            "Padfoot, Peter and I have come to a conclusion," Remus says abruptly, snatching my attention to his side of the table.

            I quirk an eyebrow. "Well, let's have it."

            "Well," he leans forward, lowering his tone drastically, "The way I remember making the map, it shows when someone is in _danger_. So I don't think…Ainslee is going through…well…" He flusters a bit. "Through her time of the month."

            I snicker; listening to Remus Lupin say 'time of the month' was odd enough, added to the bought of uncomfortable ferocity that had taken his face the moment the words slipped out.

            His glowering is enough to silence me again; he doesn't become angry often, so I know I must pay attention.

            "Don't you remember the last time the map showed someone's ink in that colour?"

            I know I have gone pallid; memories flash through my head on a roll…

            _Red robes, red hands…_

_            Screaming…_

_            Gripping crimson arms…_

I gasp sharply and put my face in my hands. "Yes, I bloody remember."

            The other Marauders look about as sick as I do, I notice. I deeply wish that Remus had not brought it up whatsoever; it was a time, years ago, and still faintly terrifying for all of us to recall.

            "Right." He wears a blank look but I'm fully aware that underneath that look, there is pure pain.

            I clasp my hands nervously, frantic for a change of subject. "Well—well, maybe you're right. D'you want me to look into it?"

            Remus is observing me now with the utmost suspicion, seemingly glad for the distraction from his own tremulous thoughts. "How're you going to manage that?"

            James turns to me as well, but with curiosity abound. "I'd like to know that very same thing."

            Peter is silent though, glancing nervously at me. His question is implicit yet identical to the other two.

            I smile, a small mischievous smile. "Well…everyone loves dogs…"

**author's note;** hello, my lovelies, don't fret. i have not given up work on bleed the stars, i am just rather excited to get chaos and the pieces up (eventually) so i'm working on those first. but please read and review on this :-)


	3. closed

two; closed.

_remus._

_Sirius knows what he's doing_, I continue to reassure myself. _He knows what he's doing._

For some reason – perhaps it is the horrible sinking in my stomach or perhaps the fact that his suggestions are usually reckless and brash – I am completely unsure of this. Of course I want to know if Ainslee is hiding something, but – for Sirius to shift and trick her into thinking he was a dog?

Maybe I should back up; in second year, the rest of the Marauders found out my secret. The secret that I was bitten by a werewolf as a small child thus I, myself, transform into the very hideous creature every full moon. And the amazingly loyal, caring people that they are…decided to attempt the improbable (though proven to be entirely _possible_).

They all became Animagi. It took them a great part of three years, but they had managed by the time we were fifteen. James and Sirius are both brilliant in Transfiguration, unlike Peter, who constantly was in need of their help to achieve their similar goals.

I could possibly be muddling your brain with this information. Animagi are wizards and witches that can transform into a certain animal at will. James shifts into a stag, Peter into a rat, and Sirius…yes, a dog. A gigantic, black dog.

They make every full moon exciting instead of unbearable; see, werewolves don't harms animals when transformed. Only humans. And only humans stupid enough to approach them. Though I cannot control myself when I am transformed, I don't usually need to. So we simply roam about. Lately we've been rather partial to the Forbidden Forest (the name itself suggests the Marauders' reason for entering).

Sirius draws my gaze to him as he motions me forward.

It's almost eleven o'clock in the evening and we're assembled around the fire. The common room is nearly desolate with the exception of one Lily Evans and one Ainslee Bordeaux. I know automatically what Sirius wants as I push closer to him. "Yes?"

"I shall be off to bed, aye?" He wiggles his eyebrows in a fashion that only females would find flattering.

I sigh, mentally berating myself for ever agreeing to this foolish plan. "Aye. As should the rest of us," I affix, eyeing the others contemptuously.

James throws me a signature glance of exasperation but Peter merely nods as to concur. He has been more quiet than usual today.

I have no time to dwell on any particular thought though. Sirius leaps to his feet, startling the two girls – each in their own individual chair away from the fireplace – and smacks his hands together. "It is, after all, eleven," he articulates loudly.

I spy Lily flipping the face of her Muggle watch over after he says this and I have to smile. She may not favor him (_definitely_ not) but Sirius surely knew how to get rid of her when she was not needed.

Ainslee, however, returns to the book she had been reading, wrapping gold tips around her index finger. This is not the first time I find my eyes lured to her and I am abstractedly aware that it will not be the last.

I reluctantly clamber to my feet and follow the others up to the boy's dormitory. As the door slams shut behind me, James is already clutching his Invisibility Cloak. He hands it to Sirius.

Sirius tips an imaginary hat in my direction. "I'll see you prats later," he grins casually. With that, he swings the Cloak around his body and disappears. The only way I know where he's off to is by the way the heavy, bruised door opens and closes of its own accord. I smirk ruefully after him.

"Wish you could go?" James slaps a hand across my back and stares at me inquiringly.

"A bit, yeah," I confess.

He nods understandingly. "Can't blame you. If it were Lily, I'd want to know."

Wait. _What_?

"What brought Lily into this?" I turn around hesitantly as he drops to his knees, digging through his trunk. More than likely, looking for clean clothes.

"Well – you fancy Ainslee, don't you?"

I know I must appear positively horrified from the way that James' face flushes.

"Oh, bloody hell. Sorry, mate. Must've misread your looks?"

I wag my head vigorously. It's a bit of a lie, really. It's not that I fancy Ainslee – I don't _know_ Ainslee – rather, I just find her beauty breathless and stunning. And that causes me to stare at her. Quite often.

James chortles at my reaction. "You've got to admit though, not my fault for assuming such. You're going to go colour blind from taking in that much vibrancy for too long."

I reflect on his description. Yes, Ainslee did have that effect on a person. The poetic tone in his words is one to be admired though; no one has ever given James enough credit. Only we know that he's more than just a nice face, sense of humor and athletic ability.

"Remus?"

I blink slowly, realizing that James was patiently pending a reply. "Oh-oh yes. I agree."

"Alright, Moony?" Peter's voice pipes up from the chair next to the window.

I shake my fingers through the daft, sandy hair that I had _brilliantly_ decided to let grow. "Yeah, 'course."

When James settles into his bed with one of his Quidditch books, I sit in the chair opposite Peter. The moon bathes me in its silvery luminescence; if I were a conventional person, I would not mind, but I feel like retching.

"What're you thinking?" Peter probes gently.

There is a silent moment before I recite my feelings into words. "I'm worried," I pause, "And confused by why you've been so mute."

Peter takes this in, leaning back in the cushions and closing his eyes. "Too much turmoil in this damn world."

"That's not what's bothering you."

"I didn't say it was."

I cringe; indeed, he had not said that at all.

He opens his eyes again, holding a countenance of bemusement. "It's alright," he grows serious, "Rather, I've been thinking about the thing that came up at lunch today."

A trickle of fear scrambles down my spine; I can feel the blood running through my veins grow colder. "Which thing?" I rejoinder, stupidly.

Peter fixes me with a shrewd glower. "You know _exactly_ which thing."

I swallow hard, pinching my eyes shut.

_Flesh, knife._

_ Flesh, crimson._

_ Connect the dots._

"REMUS!" Hands clasp at my shoulders and my eyes flutter open. I start, finding myself staring straight into Peter's panicked face. "Merlin, I'm sorry for bringing it up now!"

I caress my temples severely. "I'm fine, Peter."

"Are you?" He inspects my face closely and I push him away.

"Yes."

Peter's lips draw together in a very straight line. "Alright."

Suddenly, I'm incredibly impatient for Sirius' return. I don't want to think about this anymore, I do not want to be left with these reminiscences. Burned, imprinted against my memory forever. I ponder why a boy such as myself, hiding behind yellowed parchment pages and pretty words, would allow such thoughts to resurface.

"Wormtail, what have you brought upon poor Moony this time?" James peers at the pair of us over the top of his book.

"Nothing," I intervene before Peter can answer. "Everything's quite all right, Prongs."

James shoves a tissue in between the pages he had been reading and tosses the book to the wooden floor. It hits with a loud thud. "Well anyway, how do you think old Padfoot's holding up?"

Bank on James for a distraction.

"Knowing him?" I snort. "He's probably using some sort of animalistic charm to get her to begin a conversation with him."

"He's a bloody dog, for Merlin's sake. A dog can only be so charming."

I have to laugh at the expression on James' face. He makes a good point, I note. I fear that Sirius' plan still doesn't sit quite well with me; there was no telling it would work anyway. But if it did – and if Ainslee ever finds out…

My teeth dart over my bottom lip when this thought mercilessly strikes me down. "James, Peter?" They both turn to me and I voice my judgment, "Say Sirius' plan _does_ work by some crazy loophole or something…what are we going to do if Ainslee realizes what's going on?"

The other two look at a loss and I sigh; I've been afraid of this.

"Well…s'pose we've got a lot of explaining to do if she grasps the idea. Like why the hell Sirius can change into a dog anyway. But I don't think she'll find out unless something very strange happens." James presses his back against his pillow and smothers a yawn. "I'll probably turn in. I can't make it to whenever Sirius decides to return."

Rolling my eyes, I nod.

"Don't stay up too late, Moony," he teases frivolously.

"Shut your face, Potter," I feign a growl. Peter and James laugh; a smile twitches at the corners of my mouth.

Now, if only Sirius would come back.

**author note; **sorry this is so short and boring. the next chapter will be much better, i promise. 

**madderthanyou;** lol it hints at sb/oc and don't worry about not understanding the blood thing, you will eventually, it's meant to be a secret ;; thanks for the review btw.

**chicklahoma, siriuszsecretlover, egg-n-head;** wow, thank you for the reviews


	4. damaged

three; damaged.

_ainslee._

I know it's late. I know that because the common room has turned into a wasteland; cold, abandoned, dark.

I've grown accustomed to this, actually. I'm a nocturnal recluse, and though I have had my shooting stars' worth of wishes to change, I find myself in the quiet inhospitality. It's times like these that I understand my place, my past, my present, and my future.

My past, the hardest of these to explain, is where I cease to exist. Sounds odd, I'm sure. But it is the only time in my life that I can honestly say I wish I had been dead rather than go through some of the things I went through.

Of course, I was perfectly fine after being placed into foster care, but by the time I was ten – let's just say that my innocence was stolen from me in the form of my virginity. _Stolen_.

I'm adept to hiding things like that from myself, the majority of the time. Memories, I mean. Material that I can recall.

My background as a witch comes from my "father," I have no misgivings. He always was a strange sort-of bastard. Making peculiar things happen around the house.

Once, he actually sent a heavily framed photograph of my mother (long deceased, the lucky bitch) flying into my forehead. Ah, that wasn't the worst of what he ever did to me though. No, most certainly not. However, at the time, I didn't grasp the concept of how he made things happen like that. Supposed I was scared of him then.

If I were to face him today, more than likely a few inches above him, cold, hard and strong…I would kill him. Without a second thought, I would destroy him. Call me whatever you wish, I know I'm heartless. I don't care.

A noise from nearby the portrait hole startles me from my midnight views; when I look up, I see nothing.

Carefully, I set my journal down on the table beside my favorite chair (closest to the windows; to look at the night sky) and stand shakily. My legs are failing me, they have gotten less sleep than my poor brain has.

A single shadow sprints across the room toward me and I barely have a second to react; I throw myself on the ground and a large, black dog streaks past me.

"What the…what the bloody hell?" I sit up on my elbows and stare at the huge animal; it reminds me terribly of a shaggy Great Dane.

Gradually, I come to my senses.

No one in Gryffindor owns a dog…I think I would know by now if someone did. Especially this one.

But he doesn't seem horribly unfriendly; he's just sitting there, tongue lolling out of his mouth, looking at me.

"Whom the hell do you belong to?" I mutter absently, reaching out my hand. He moves forward, nuzzling my fingers with his snout. "How did you get in here?"

Automatically, I feel very silly. I'm talking to a _dog_. Something clicks in the back of my head though.

_Dogs are man's best friend. Besides, you're not talking to yourself this time._

I frown.

The animal commands my attention, abruptly nibbling on my pinky. I pull it away. "Don't do that," I rap lightly on his nose. "I wonder how you got in here. It's a bit difficult for a dog to speak up with the password."

He barks as if to agree with me and I place my hand to my forehead.

"I'm talking to a dog," I mumble, lying down on the wooded floor. He curls up beside me and I groan. "I wish you would bite me or something. Then I wouldn't feel like an imprudent fool."

Instead of biting me, he turns his head to lick my cheek.

"I really do hate animals, you know," I try to convince him (and myself). "Hate them. My dad had this repulsive mutt before that I used to kick around…"

He doesn't seem to believe me, I notice dryly. Instead, he's continuing to lick my face. I exhale deeply.

I raise a hand to push him away, my sleeve sliding down my arm. My eyes hit the spot where internal pain has turned to external with nothing but a razor blade; I grimace when I realize that blood is seeping from the bandage.

I sit up and pull it off a bit, dabbing the cut with my fingertips.

The stupid dog climbs to his paws and wanders closer, as if inspecting my arm. He pushes his nose close, sniffing at the blood. Then he recoils like I've slapped him.

"What's your problem?" I ask, pulling the bandage back around my arm and tugging my sleeve down. "It's just a cut."

Sad grey eyes turn upwards to rest on my face and I feel very anxious.

"What the hell is wrong with me? A damn dog is giving me a guilty conscience," I carelessly shove the dog away from me. "What d'you want, anyway? Are you here to be pain in my arse? Hm?" 

This is futile; it isn't as if the damnable animal is going to answer my questions. But for some unattainable reason, I don't feel as crazy talking to the dog as I would talking to myself.

"I have my own basis for doing it, you silly creature," I say, a bit more gently this time. I don't suppose I owe the dog an explanation of any sorts but I feel comforted at the fact that I have something to get my thoughts out to. "I finally comprehend my own humanity when I do it."

My fingers idly trace a number of various scars, breaking the skin and marring it darker. They make my skin feel incredibly heavy, what with so many of them. Crossing, vicious, marked arms. And my heavy skin.

_Heavy, heavy, heavy…_

I close my eyes and a rough tongue crosses my cheek. Scrunching up my nose, I swipe dog slobber from my face. "_Oi_, that's disgusting!"

The pictures dancing in my eyelids are rather soothing; random stars and spots, a rainbow assortment of colours. I yawn vaguely, lying down again.

"You know, I can't just call you 'dog'. If you're going to hang around me, you need a name," I speak forgetfully, not quite sure what words are coming from my lips. I'm in a terrible state of exhaustion and I'm drifting a bit, losing track of thoughts. "Midnight, perhaps…no, no, that's completely unoriginal…"

Had the dog been human, I would have mistaken the slight snuffles emitting from his body as laughter.

"Snuffles," I yawn again. "Yes, because your breathing sounds indistinctly like familiar laughter…"

I feel his tongue dash across my nose this time but my arms are too sore to push him back.

"Don't mind Snuffles much, do you?"

A yip of approval. Oh good, the no-longer-nameless agrees.

"All right, Snuffles. Tell you what. I'll give you a decent conversation—," I pause and breathe out loudly, "—if you find me some equally decent _humans_ to speak with as well. Deal?"

Another yip. Agreed again. My mind is blanking though; I tend to be unable to have a nice conversation with anyone or anything when I am half-asleep.

"Okay, let's see. Would you like to hear more of my insufferable past? I've never told anyone about it anyway."

Snuffles nudges my arm. I don't move.

"Very well. Assuming you're letting me know that you consent," I still feel very much like a nutter but my own self-will forces me to say more, while my subconscious tries to steal my verbosity away. "My mother died when I was little. My father raised me. He was horrible to me. Did something that I really don't want to say out loud; that would make it real. For right now, if it's locked in my head, it's nothing but recurring nightmares that I wake up with. I live with my foster parents. They're much nicer. But they indulged me a bit too much because, by the time I was thirteen, I was very overweight," I'm rather obliged to pause here for a breath. Then I continue, "My foster brother, Cael, wouldn't let me live it down. Kept on it. Sent me letters and all, telling me I had to lose weight. _'It's rather unappealing'_. So I did lose weight. Didn't eat for days unless I absolutely had to. I still do that sometimes. Cael was impressed when I came home, summer before fourth year."

I end my tale for a few moments to dredge up my third year. It had been awful enough without Cael's discouragement; I had felt rancorously despicable.

It's then that I wake up a bit more; I finally listen carefully enough to hear Snuffles' whimpering.

"Are you crying for me?" I mutter, thinking how eccentric the idea is. Indeed, the animal sticks his head against my neck and I'm continually perplexed by this behaviour; it's extremely outlandish for a dog. "Don't cry for me," my face blushes crimson with embarrassment, "I was born to be the way I am."

Eyes still closed, I blindly reach out to tangle my fingers in his shaggy fur.

"No one worries about me. That's the way it should be," my eyelids quiver for a moment and I open them. "It's late. It must be past one. Even the Marauders are gone before I am…"

My thoughts waft in that direction; yes, it was most certainly odd for them to be in bed before I. They were strange ones, the Marauders.

"Trouble-makers," I mumble under my breath, still too tired to be very comprehensible, "those ones. Nice boys though, I s'pose. Excluding the one time Sirius Black tried to hit on me." I laugh wryly at this recollection, "Not quite my type, that fellow."

The dog growls in a low tone, almost resentfully.

"What, did I offend you? Maybe that's who you belong to?" I figure I would know if Sirius owns a dog, but then again, I can't say I'm fairly close with any of the Marauders. "Well, my apologies. I meant no harm."

Snuffles rests his head in the crook of my arm and I manage another giggle.

"You seem rather charming. I wouldn't be surprised if you were Sirius' dog."

Another lick of concord.

"Okay, so maybe I don't hate dogs as much as I claimed," my eyes snap shut, "But really…you have to stop with that tongue of yours…it's kind of gross…"

I'm positive that I'm going to pass out. I'm already halfway there; it's snug on the floor where the fire had heated it until it had died out.

Snuffles gnaws lightly on my arm, obviously unhappy with my dozing off on him. I moan and roll over. "I'm tired, you prat. What do you want from me?" I try waving him off as he grabs a hold of my sleeve, yanking my arm back down. "It's late, I'm done talking!"

It's at that moment, as Snuffles is desperately attempting to force me fully awake, that I hear the footfalls on the staircase. And the whispered voices.

I bolt upright and my eyes wildly race around the room. Who could possibly be down here at this hour?

"_Owch_, Remus, that was my foot!" One hisses rather loudly.

"Sorry, now shut up!"

I relax a bit. Alright, so I'm not in the least surprised. Just the troublemakers out for some mischief, I suppose.

Then I remember that I'm still sitting on the floor and one o'clock in the morning with a huge black dog.

I leap to my feet, reaching over and deftly snatching my journal from the table. Unfortunately, I have reacted much too late and the boys are at the foot of the stairs, staring at me.

"Er…'lo, boys," I burble awkwardly.

Remus Lupin and Peter Pettigrew continue to stare at me.

Snuffles scampers to his paws, stretches, and wags his tail vigorously.

"Right. Well, I'm finally off." I avoid their gazes as I head toward the girl's staircase.

"What are you doing up this late?" Peter asks unexpectedly.

I waver for a moment, and then frown. "Had a lot of work to do, and a lot on my mind."

"Aren't you going to say good-bye to your friend?" Remus chuckles.

I turn around to find Snuffles standing directly behind me, panting something awful. Sighing, I scratch him lightly beneath his snout. "'Night, boy."

I don't bother asking them who he belongs to; the answer comes when Snuffles jogs to Remus.

"What's his name?" They exchange looks and I quickly explain, "I've been calling him Snuffles."

"Uh—well, Snuffles sounds fine. See--," Remus shifts timidly, "I, er, just got him. Haven't named him yet."

I nod understandingly. He's an appalling liar. "All right, I'm really off this time," I tip my head at them and take the stairs too at a time.

I'm completely silent as I enter the dorm; Lily'll have my head if I wake her this late.

When I settle into bed, I immediately wonder what had inspired me to ignore the beckoning question in the back of my mind: Why were only two out of the fabulous foursome trotting downstairs for late-night mischief?

I shrug it off coolly. Perhaps they were fetching Snuffles.

I haven't found the ability to concentrate very hard on a single lucid thought prior Snuffles' mysterious appearance. It's actually very difficult to cast my thoughts around on anything whatsoever…maybe I'll find more to think about in the morning…

**author's note;** yeah, this chapter turned out pretty lame too. i tried to give it all that i could but i spent about three straight days working on it. major writer's block began to plague me about a quarter of the way through blush.

**ahh you guys rock;** thanks to everyone who has reviewed it means a lot to me!

**special thanks to dede;** thanks for plugging me and for the great review, you rock


	5. expectant

four; expectant.

_sirius._

It's painless; uncomfortable, yet not quite horrible. Not pleasurable either though.

The feeling of shifting from human to dog; knees bending in directions they're not meant to go, fur spreading in wildfire ripples across your body. Your nose extending; and you ultimately feel silly throughout the whole process.

The conversion from dog to human feels like going back home after a very long vacation. Everything is normal and warm; it's familiarity at its best.

And after listening to my plan work perfectly, all I want is to be human again.

"Did you find anything out?" Remus chances a glance up the girl's staircase as I half-stride, half-stumble, to the place where I had left James' Invisibility Cloak.

I seize it from the hiding spot and release a precarious breath.

I'm positive that he senses something wrong; from the other side of the common room comes his hesitant second question, "Is it really that bad?"

I sink into the closest chair, head in hands. Yes, yes, yes. Bloody fucking yes. And how am I expected to look him in the eye and tell him, with all honesty in tone, that Ainslee Bordeaux slices her arms open when things are not bloody brilliant?

After the thought passes through my mind, I feel like a horrible person. That was, unquestionably, the worst and most insensitive way to put it.

I barely recognize Remus' presence as he lowers himself on the floor in front of me.

"What _is_ it?" He mutters gently.

I scrub weary eyes with closed fists. "She…she cuts her arms," I whisper.

Silence pursues my response. We stay like this for a while; the only movement in the room comes from Peter, shifting distressingly.

Finally – "You mean to say…she…she cuts her arms…like…purposely? With a-a knife or something? And then lets them bleed?"

I dare a peek at Remus' face; he's ashen and trembling madly. His eyes trail to the floor.

"Yes. Yes, she does," I hear my hoarse voice answer.

He lurches to his feet; he looks incredibly ill. "Bloody _fucking_ hell…"

I reach out to take hold of his elbow when he trips again but he pushes me away. He slumps to his knees, bending over. For a terrifying moment, I convince myself that he's going to heave, and rush to his side. Instead, I listen in alarm as he chokes it down.

Peter dashes to help me as I link an arm around Remus to hoist him to his feet. Together, we escort him back to our dormitory, taking the stairs vigilantly.

When the door slams open, James starts upright in bed. He rubs his eyes, yawning hugely, before taking in the scene unfurling in front of him. "What in ruddy hell is going on here?"

Peter and I carefully lead Remus to his bed, where he weakly climbs under the covers and thanks us in an almost nonexistent tone. He's asleep within minutes yet I somehow assume that he's not going to sleep very well.

"To answer your question," I begin, "My plan worked."

A look of excitement flits across James' face but retreats quickly upon our grim expressions. "And you're not pleased whatsoever. So what went wrong?"

"I found out more than intended," I tell him, falling into my own bed. "Much…much more."

Confused, James unhurriedly lays back against his pillow. "How so?"

Snapping my teeth down on my lower lip, I close my eyes. "She told me all about her past. It—I mean, she sounded rather nonchalant about it. But it was horrible. She's with a foster family, she had a bunch of weight problems in third year – do you remember her well back then?"

James thoughtfully taps his index finger to his chin. "A bit, yeah. Before she grew into herself."

I shake my head, revulsion churning my stomach. "She didn't grow into herself."

Peter, who has been listening quietly from his bed, asks, "What d'you mean?"

"I mean…I mean, she stopped eating. Only when she had to, she ate. I wish I could remember," I divulge painfully.

"Is that the worst of it or is there something you're not telling me?" James glances between Peter and I.

"Well, would you consider cutting her arms the 'worst of it'?" Peter says before I can open my mouth.

James turns to him in horror. "Yeah—yeah, I'd say so."

An impulsive idea registers in my mind. "We have to find ways to stop her," I burst out.

"How do you propose we do that?" James lifts a brow.

"I-I don't know yet," I frown sheepishly, tugging on the thought in my head. Yes, it would make sense, wouldn't it? To try and interfere with her addiction.

I must disclose this, only to my psyche, that this is the first time I have been completely unsure of myself. I have always believed my confidence everlasting but for once, I am at a downright loss. Ainslee isn't quite a friend, no, but she's certainly a person. A good person, with the right intentions (I'd hope), and hence does not deserve to be in such an amount of relentless pain. However, the question isn't of whether or not she deserves it. More accurately, it's how to stop her from receiving it. "I've got to think of _something_…"

"You don't have to devise another plan today, Padfoot. The first one you came up with worked too well anyway," James chortles darkly. I can tell he's dwelling on the same things that I am. He is, after all, my best friend. If I can't virtually peruse his mind after six years, then Merlin help me.

"Well enough to inspire a second one," I return, my voice dismal.

"It's not like we can put a second plan into action at the current moment," Peter argues. I struggle to keep my brash mouth in line before it stealthily took all eloquent thought.

"No, of course not, you dolt. But we could start it off first thing tomorrow--"

"All right, enough," James interjects hastily, "Sirius – tomorrow, mate. Peter – don't fight him about it, okay?"

"Fine," we both gripe.

James Potter, ever the peacekeeper.

"So that's the plan, we'll work it out in the morning, it's much too late…" I tune out James, going back to the common room.

_"Are you crying for me?" She had asked, appearing a bit disconcerted at the idea. Her face flared scarlet from her neck to her forehead. "Don't cry for me…I was born to be the way I am…"_

_ I had pushed closer into her neck, continuing to whine._

_ "No one worries about me…that's the way it should be…"_

"Padfoot?"

I come to, abruptly aware that I should have been listening to James. "Um, yes. Sorry about that, mate. You know me…easily distracted." I laugh lightly though it sounds dreadfully strained, even to my own ears.

"Easily _amused_ is more like it," Peter pipes up, smiling a bit.

"Indeed, that too," I wink, wrenching my lips into a lively grin. My cheerful attitude does not con James though; of course, I can never get anything by him. He's watching me with anxious hazel eyes and I curse myself for believing that I could possibly slip by his radar. Stupid git; I don't mean to worry anyone, why can't he just let it go?

Besides, _it's not me we have to worry about_, I adjoin wryly to myself. It's the one no one's concentrating on any longer.

"Sirius, maybe you should get some rest. You look a god-awful mess," James says, his tone brimming with concern.

I acquiesce but part of my mind is screaming for me to think of something better; something to help Ainslee. "We can't allow Ainslee to be alone or unhappy," I murmur heedlessly. "Because…it's an addiction and…she'll keep at it if she's not happy or distracted…and…"

"We'll talk about it in the morning," James repeats, "When Moony's awake. He can help us come up with an answer."

My consciousness is drifting, for some reason, to a distant memory.

_Pushed open the door…_

_ Familiar robes…_

_ Warily approached the figure…_

_ Blood on the floor…_

"Sirius?"

"Let him sleep, Peter."

_And the sound of my own voice screaming…_

**author's note; **woo, this is better than the last two, thank god, even if it is a bit short (blushes). thanks to everyone who has reviewed so far; you're all great :"D and by the way, if anyone wants to check out the teasers and spoilers i've got on the internet, the link is in my biography thing, so go for it. i'd love to hear what you think. oh oh, and i'm so incredibly excited to write chapter six because that's when you find out what they're all remembering.


	6. failure

five; failure.

_remus._

Sunlight sifts through the window, bathing the dormitory in its golden shine. It's going to be beautiful today, I know, but I can't bring myself to be jovial about it.

The night before comes back in a whirlwind of pictures and voices and I grab my head. It is the only vague attempt to calm them that I can muster.

_Ainslee_…

Something about her that I don't want to remember…don't want to remember the words or how my stomach had turned over when Sirius had said them. Don't want to remember how I could imagine her, radiant in my mind, impossibly happy. Don't want to remember how I felt when I knew it was true.

Because I do know that it's true.

I shake my head, desperately trying to clear the memories from it, but they are rather ruthless.

_"She cuts her arms."_

I cradle my head in my hands. I'm beginning to feel sick again.

"You all right, mate?"

I suddenly realize that Sirius is awake as well; he's examining me very closely.

"Not really," I confess gutturally. "But I apologize for losing it on you and Peter last night. It just—was the last thing I expected."

"What were you expecting?" He questions dryly.

"Anything but that," I say in all sincerity.

A nod and he stretches. "We should get up."

"It's Saturday."

"…you're right, we don't have to," Sirius grins, "But Peter and James should."

I throw him a look of confusion. "Why?"

"Because I'm an evil prat." With that said, he picks up one of his books, and hurls it straight at James' sleeping face.

It comes in contact with an awfully loud cracking noise.

Followed directly by…

"AHHHH YOU **BLOODY GIT**, WHAT THE FUCK IS YOUR PROBLEM?!" James throws his covers off, sitting upright in his bed. His hair is tousled with sleep but his eyes are wide open and wildly scanning the room for the culprit. He comes to rest his gaze on Sirius. "RUN FOR YOUR RUDDY NO-GOOD LIFE, BLACK!"

Cackling wickedly, Sirius dives out of his bed just as James snatches up aforementioned book and tries to chuck it back.

I smile despite the recollections from last night.

"Hey, Moony, will you grab that for me?" James pins Sirius down, pointing to a thick hardback lying a few feet from my bed.

"Moony, don't do it! He's going to hit me with it!"

I hold up my hands, innocently. "I'm not a part of this."

"Aw, Moony…"

"What's going on?" Peter mutters groggily, pushing himself up on his elbows. He takes in the sight in front of him and yawns. "He used a book again, didn't he, James?"

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

Since my first year, I've always wanted to go swimming in the lake. I never have because it's not the most brilliant idea. But right now, the sun is blistering the dirt only mere inches from where I sit.

I have been able to do nothing all day. Every time I wish to complete my homework or pull out a book, my mind flies straight back to Ainslee.

_She cuts her arms, she cuts her arms, she cuts her arms…_

Since early this morning, Sirius has been after all of us to devise one more plan. Something, _anything_, to stop or hinder her self-destruction. And he's absolutely right, I know, and I want to help her. But…how?

A notion hits me; I spring to my feet, walking quickly to the shore of the lake where a familiar redhead is giggling at something the girl beside her had said.

"Lily!" I freeze on the bank; I'm not exactly _friends_ with Lily, but certainly she could afford me one favor…

She looks up, frowning a little at the sight of me. "Yes?"

I motion her away from her gathering and she comes, though not happily.

"Can I help you?" She queries, standing in front of me with her hands on her hips.

Lily has always been an intimidating figure; I think that's part of Dumbledore's reason for handing her the Prefect badge last year. Though she was intelligent and pretty as well, she did not strike me as someone that was very love-worthy (so of course I've always been confused by James' fascination with her…). "I just wanted to ask a favor – nothing bad or that involves James, I promise," I tell her quickly, watching as her features change from resentful to angry to calm again.

"Well? What is it?" She glances back at her friends, then to me again.

"I assume you know Ainslee."

Lily's bright green eyes snap to me immediately, suspicion lurking in them. "What about her?"

I'm beginning to regret this. "She—she has this bad habit—"

"Oh," Lily says abruptly, "You mean, with the razor?"

I gape at her.

"I already knew about that. I mean, I just found out a few days ago, when she rolled up her sleeves after one of our classes," Lily stares at me. "What?"

My mouth flaps before I finally manage, "Why haven't you tried to stop her?!"

"I _have_! I've been staying up later, if you haven't noticed. Like last night. I stayed up as late as I could but I had to tell her good night and leave. It was past midnight," Lily's a tad offended at my accusation, I note.

"Yes, I have noticed that, but I didn't think much into it. I just found out last night. Well—Sirius found out," I shift uncomfortably; her eyes flash at Sirius' name.

"I see. So what was your favor?"

"Well, to watch her for us. But you've already begun that."

"Should we tell someone?" Lily asks me hesitantly, scraping her bare toes against the sand.

I realize suddenly that I hadn't thought of this before. The idea hadn't occurred to me, to _tell_ someone – an adult, a teacher, Dumbledore or McGonagoll. But after a moment's consideration, the corners of my mouth turn downwards. How would they react to something like that? What would they do with her? "No. What about the consequences?"

Lily shrugs. "She's a big girl. She should handle the penalty of her actions."

"Lily, what are you doing?! Come on!" Coral Crimson calls, interrupting our conversation.

"I ought to go," Lily murmurs timidly. "If I see you later, we'll talk more."

I nod wordlessly, watching her go.

Well, we're not alone, I suppose.

I return to the common room at a faster pace than normal; instead of fluid, my movements have been erratic and jerky. This is unusual, really.

But upon entering the common room, only one person is inside, away from the world. Away from the sun, from the light, from the heat.

Sitting in a chair near the window, is Ainslee.

I diffidently move to the chair opposite hers, resting my legs.

She peers up at me, offers a friendly smile, and returns to her journal.

Before I can stop myself, the words surge from my lips. "What are you writing?"

Her quill pauses over the parchment; the hand holding it is quivering. She peeks at me from underneath long, shiny black bangs. There's a strange flicker of distress in the oceans of pacific blue; I try frantically not to be pulled into the undertow by those eyes. "Just-just poems. I use it as a diary sometimes too."

The eruption is coming again and I attempt, in vain, to hold it in – yet my failure is plain. "Is it horrible for me to ask if I could read one sometime? Not the diary entries, a poem."

I have to disclose my surprise privately when she smiles in pleasure instead of harshly informing me that I must sod off. A line that she had had to use on Sirius once.

"Hm…Remus, if I'm not mistaken, that was your dog last night?"

I incline my head, grateful for her smile. I'm growing a little more comfortable as she fixes her eyes on me. "He's mine, yes."

"Will he be joining me again tonight?"

I feign a wry laugh, "Doubtful." Disappointment flutters to her face. "He's tired," I lie.

The disappointment fades to bemusement; she pulls wistfully at her hair. "You take the top of my list of bad liars," I flush at this, "But I'll let it slide this time," she winks, smiling again.

I avert my gaze to the floor so as to hide my burgundy cheeks.

I'm not sure what has compelled me to begin this conversation with her, but I rather feel like continuing it. She's forthcoming and certainly charismatic – a trait that she seems to share with Sirius, which I find strange, since they're believed to be complete opposites. "You-you didn't answer my question."

"I didn't?" Her smile grows, "All right, then, read one." She pushes the journal into my chest.

"Does it matter…" I thumb through the pages, my voice drifting.

Her hand settles on mine when I come to a certain page. "Yes. So just read this one." She leans back again.

_I know you lied; push comes to shove_

_That's how you fall_

_I hope the crash kills you…_

_Because you took my dumb heart by storm_

_Commanded my love_

_And you…_

_You were always better at this than I._

I glance up at her with wide eyes.

"It's not exactly a poem, I suppose. Just some writing," she takes the journal from my hands. "It's no good. The entire thing is negative."

My mouth pulls down; I had no reservations about that. "Of course, if negativity is all you feel and all you've known," I say.

She laughs lightly, her voice turning tedious. "Yes, I agree. But how would you know if negativity is all I've known? Snuffles couldn't have possibly told you."

I'm feeling somewhat apprehensive now; I wish I could think before I speak. "No, most definitely not," I lie again, doing a better job this time, "Dog's can't possibly talk. Even if they could, they wouldn't have anything intelligent to say."

Ainslee stifles a giggle with her hand; I wish she wouldn't. Her laugh is similar to music. "Well, it feels better to be talking to a human instead of a dog, this time," she confesses. "Why…why did you start to talk to me anyway?"

This catches me off-guard and I writhe when I feel another lie coming on. Instead, I turn it into a half-truth with the best answer I've come up with all day: "You looked lonely."

She studies for a minute. Then – "So I was." A break. "Thank you, then. You've held me at bay again."

I smile gently. Though I'm not positive on that quote's meaning, it generates warmth nonetheless. So I don't question her on it, because this exchange has gone better than I expected anyway.

_You've held me at bay again…_

**author's note;** yeah, the point-of-view chapters go in order (sirius, remus, ainslee) for a little while, if you haven't noticed. it'll get all crazy and mixed up rather soon. oh, and stay tuned for chapter six, because a huge secret is revealed…you'll hear more of it in chapter seven as well. i'm trying to take my time and do a good job on this but i've found that i don't _have_ much time and i rush myself to get some of these chapters done. like tonight. i really, _really_, wanted chapter six up tonight…but my dad's bothering me and i need to go back to my mom's and blah blah blah. well, i'll try and get **six; golden.** up tomorrow.


	7. golden

**six; golden.**

_ainslee._

I can't seem to recall a better week in my life than the one following my conversation with a certain Remus Lupin. It's awful, I know, but my freedom is at hand and I charge the chance to fit my fingers around it.

And nothing has made me feel as free as becoming acquainted with the Marauders.

It's strange, don't doubt that. It started with Remus – a simple exchange in which loneliness vanished and I had obtained simple peace of mind; one night, without due injury to my heavy skin.

Directly following that encounter, I was approached by James Potter. This in itself was odd; thankfully, we spoke of things I could relate to. I enjoyed the mainly Quidditch-based banter (I've always wished to be on the team but, as an outcast, my hopes were dashed). I offered condolence for the game I missed recently, in which Gryffindor lost. Unfortunately, I could not tell him that my arms had been bleeding that night so I had been a bit held off by that.

After James, shy Peter Pettigrew requested help with his Potions homework and I enlisted gladly. While much quieter than the other three boys, Peter still shares the same good nature and amiability.

Lastly, I was familiarly accosted by Sirius Black, who was less rude than he'd been the first time we spoke. He adored showing off and telling me stories of past pranks. The brilliance behind each plan was unmistakable; how a boy that came across as haughty and selfish could come up with such things…I'll never understand the logic in any of it.

Though I'm currently by my lonesome, I feel incredible compared to how I've felt for the past sixteen years of my life. I love sitting by the lake, beneath the proverbial oak tree. The sounds of students yelling and laughing creep through the air in the distance.

A twig snaps from behind the tree and I place my journal on the dirt, glancing up.

"Oh, lo there," Sirius says, hovering on the opposite side of the tree.

"Hullo," I greet, grinning warmly. "What are you doing, sneaking around?" I pick up my journal, closing it and binding it with the attached leather strap.

He smiles in a sheepish manner. "Something like that," he replies in a carefree tone, and I raise a brow in suspicion. "Mind if I sit with you?"

"Not a bit," I motion to the ground beside me. "It's only ten o'clock on a Saturday morning. I'd think that someone like you would sleep until all hours of the day."

Sirius shrugs resolutely, waving a hand. "I would, if James hadn't gotten revenge on me for waking him last Saturday. So I was up an hour ago, with the imprint of a galleon in my forehead."

"You have interesting methods to wake one another up," I laugh.

"You have no idea."

I throw him a sidelong look, scrutinizing his behaviour. He leans back against the tree, one eye open and trained on me.

"What?"

"You were watching me first."

I punch him in the arm. "How mature, Mister Black."

"Do I strike you as mature?" He flicks my cheek in an affectionate way but I pull back, a little unsettled. I have only been familiar with him for one week; before that, I was not used to human contact. I'm still growing accustomed to being around others more often.

"Actually, I never thought 'mature' and 'Sirius Black' could be placed in the same _paragraph_ together," I snicker.

"Well, that's a controversial statement. I can be quite mature if the occasion calls for it." He slyly opens his other eye, grinning lightly.

"I refuse to believe it," I say with candor.

"Would you like proof?" Sirius sits forward, pulling his knees up and resting his elbows on them. He inspects me with a slightly reproachful look on his face.

I frown, thinking. "I suppose it depends on your definition of proof."

"Don't tell me that the idea of my proving to you that I can be mature is intimidating."

I glare at him; somehow, he knows that he has hit the mark. He's watching me surreptitiously, rubbing his hands together. "Intimidating? Never." I lower my voice into a mock dangerous tone, "Let's hear this proof."

The atmosphere changes almost immediately, from playful to sinister in a split second. It seems that even the sky has darkened exceptionally, and the birds have grown quiet. Anxiety sets into the lining of my stomach, churning it with queasiness. I whirl back to Sirius.

The look on his face is hard, lines showing and destroying the youth in his attitude. Stone-cold grey eyes fall to the turmoil stirring in the lake; it suddenly appears as if the sun never existed and a storm is coming our way.

"Look, I know something about you that I shouldn't know," he admits under his breath.

I stare at him, startled. "Like what?"

"Like your scars."

My heart plummets; I tear my eyes away from him, harshly watching a few first years on the shore of the lake. They're splashing one another and trying to push each other into the lake. "I've no idea what you're talking about."

"You lie terribly."

"Funny thing, I'm not lying," I shoot back, twisting to scowl at him. He returns the anger with a knowing look.

"I don't know you that well, I understand. But I'm not the only one who knows about your little…how shall we say…addiction?" He taps his fingers on his knees, awaiting a response.

I twitch with boiling fury; addiction? Merlin, I haven't become a bloody drug buff. "It's not an addiction. It's a release. People like you have never understood the difference," I say before realizing exactly what had slipped out.

He offers a sad half-smile. "I don't understand, no. But I've dealt with-with…," his voice drifts lazily, his eyes fluttering shut and opening wide again. "I've dealt with suicide before."

Stunned, I turn to him. His eyes are filled with a dull ache; he's staring distantly toward the lake. It's as if he's lost in a memory, no longer here with me. "You…you've tried to kill yourself?"

Sirius shook his head. "Not me." He shifts the subject quickly, "I understand that suicide and-and what you do – cutting – are two different things but don't think I've completely misjudged you."

I concentrate on this for a few minutes before saying, "There's a reason you mentioned it."

"There is," he says secretly.

"What is it?"

Sirius meets my gaze at length, chewing on his lower lip. "I want you to stop."

I gape at him; does he possibly think that it's that easy?

"I know, I know. It'll take time. But from what I _do_ know about you – you're strong. Strong enough to control yourself."

I sigh wearily, rubbing my eyes. "What do you care? We're not that close anyway."

When he doesn't give me an audible riposte, I glance at him again. He's studying his feet with a fascination so intense that I knew it had to be feigned, I apprehensively inquire, "Does this have something to do with the person who attempted suicide?"

No reply.

"All right, fine then. Do you mind me asking who it was, at least?"

His mumble is so quiet that I have to lean forward and repeat the question; when I hear the answer, ice travels down my spine.

_"Remus."_

I can feel tremors contort my entire body; why would Remus, of all people…he seems so normal, so happy…

"I'm going to tell you this with the reliance that you will not breathe a word of it to any living creature again," Sirius mutters, raising his head up.

My heart throbs against my ribcage. No, no, no, no. Don't tell me, please, I'm begging.

Suddenly he starts to talk and I almost cover my ears, but my hands are frozen. My entire body is trembling; _please, Sirius, no._

"It-it was second year. We didn't know where he was," Sirius swallows and I have the urge to put my hand across his lips.

I don't, though. I don't move. I barely even breathe.

He continues. "So we…we went to look for him, and we looked everywhere. At the last moment, James made a new suggestion and he was right…he was in the Shrieking Shack." He ignores the shocked glance I throw at him; why would Remus have been in the Shrieking Shack? "So that's where we went."

Before this moment, I hadn't thought it possible for the infamous Sirius Black to even frown. He was always joking, always smiling, always laughing. But here he was now – and quite unexpectedly, close to tears.

So I listen, as hard as it is for me to hear past the blood pounding in my ears. I listen, even though I am terrified of what I am going to discover.

"I was the one to find him. The door was open and the others were searching the rest of the shack – there's more to it than you'd think," his tone is rueful and hot salt pricks the backs of my eyelids. "Well-well anyway…when I walked in, and saw him on the floor, I was scared. Scared enough to be unable to move. And when I finally took a step toward him, I…I saw the blood…and it was everywhere…"

Sirius closes his grey eyes at this, and his body begins to tremble terribly. I want to put my arms around him but I know that that would be awkward. Besides, I am still in a state of shock and cannot budge an inch.

"You know that feeling, when you think you're dreaming and you feel like you're dreaming, but you're still stuck in reality?"

I manage a nod.

"That's how it felt. I just…started screaming. As loud as I could. I screamed and screamed and screamed until I was hoarse and I told James and Peter to get help. Then I held his wrists. I think he has scars on the front of his arms where I dug my nails in, trying to stop the bleeding," he sniffles and I know he's crying. I feel miserable.

We both cry for a while, silently, and without looking at each other. Finally, I lift my head to him, bleary-eyed. "How-how bad was it?" Those were the only words I could control without cracking into tears again.

His eyes are still closed and his eyelids twitch when I ask this. "There was blood on my hands and on both of our robes. I cried and tears ran with blood on my face. He…he has three long scars on the inside of each arm. They stretch from wrist to elbow. They are perfectly straight."

The detail with which he remembers this worries me; I could not recall any one of my scars if you asked me to, unless it was my most recent one. However, with that said, I always seem to remember what exactly I used to do the job…because it was the same stolen razor blade every time.

I scrape my hands across my face, scratching at the dried saline. "Why?" I breathe, shifting closer to him.

Sirius fiercely rubs his cheeks, swatting at the tears in his eyes. It seems as if he resents such a show of emotion. "To this day, I haven't quite figured it out."

**author's note; **yeah, this is a little later than i expected it to be (face flushes) but i did not have access to my story – or the internet, for that matter – for the majority of the weekend. but look, it's finally here, and the big secret is out in the open! ahaha. oh yes, and if you're wondering why the middle part is written much better than the rest of it, it's because i wrote that when i was still full of good words…which means, shortly after the prologue and chapter one went up. so here it is. sorry if it seems short. and go read my spoiler for chapters fifteen and seventeen in my journal, on my biography page. please. pretty please. with sugar and all that good stuff.


	8. heinous

**seven; heinous.**

_sirius._

Liar, liar, liar. I'm a bloody fucking liar. I remember the exact reason for Remus' attempt and, to this day, cannot believe that someone could be so stupid when it comes to friendship.

Of course we had already figured out what he was – excuses of visiting sick parents or grandparents when, in reality, he was confining himself to the hospital wing. We can be absolute prats sometimes but we're not stupid.

Not in the same way he is, I mean.

_How_ he could have possibly thought that we would abandon him once we found out he was a werewolf is beyond me. It truly is. And second year was—well, to say the least, the most nightmarish year of my life to this day.

_"Where the fuck could he be?"_

_ "I don't fucking know, check the Marauder's Map!"_

_ "I am, he's not in the castle!"_

_ "We should have waited until the next full moon to confront him…" I pressed my hands to my temples in a vague effort to block out the previous conversation with Remus. He had screamed at us, telling us that he hadn't wanted us to know about his 'condition'._

_ "We waited a month as it was," James said logically, "We couldn't hold off, Padfoot. You know that."_

_ I nodded silently. _

_ "Guys?"_

_ We turned to Peter in unison; his face had taken on a pallor that I'd never seen before. "What's wrong, Wormtail?"_

_ His finger, trembling insanely, landed on the parchment with a thud._

_ James and I peeked over his shoulder; our jaws dropped open at the same time when we saw the inked dot that read 'Remus Lupin'. It was in the Shrieking Shack. And—_

_ "…why is it red?"_

I push my head further into my hands, pretending to pore over the DADA book on the table in front of me; the common room isn't as noisy as it could be if everyone was inside instead of out in the lake or on the grounds.

But my mind drifts back to the memory; I know if I don't continue to relive it, it'll just haunt my dreams anyway…

_James shoved the floor boards away; he climbed out of the tunnel that led underneath the Shrieking Shack and held out a hand to small Peter, pulling him up. I pushed myself out of the tunnel._

_ "Sirius and Peter, search this floor. I'm going upstairs," James bravely squared his shoulders and carefully climbed up the rickety wooden steps._

_ I swiveled away, pushing open the first door to my right. Peter did the same on the opposite side of the hallway; he tentatively stepped inside._

_ I frowned, glancing around the empty room. Nothing. Not a damn thing._

_ Stepping outside, I closed the door again. I touched the knob of the next door; it creaked a bit, already open a crack. My stomach flipped over, cramping uncomfortably._

_ "Nothing up here!" James called over the banister._

_ My hand was still frozen over the knob; at length, I pushed the door open warily._

_ Sound seemed to have dropped from existence; conveniently, the only noise was the beating of my heart. Bump, bump, bump. The only picture that swam in front of my line of vision was one of horror; familiar robes, bundled on the wooden floor._

This must be a bathroom_, I thought blankly. _

_ Blood was on the floor. A small river of it, twisting away from the pile of robes in different directions. The pile was bathed in a puddle of the thick, sticky, crimson liquid. _

_ I took a step forward, realization setting in. The pile of robes was really a body; a body with a familiar face. An ashen face, eyes closed, blood smeared across one cheek._

_ "Sirius, where are you? Peter didn't find anything, did you?" James' voice sounded distant; everything felt like it was moving in slow motion._

_ And suddenly, someone decided to hit the play button._

_ One deep breath, no words, just sound. Screaming; all I could do was scream. I screamed._

_ "Sirius!"_

_ Skidding feet and gasps._

_ I whirled around to face them, finding a voice again, "GO GET SOME FUCKING HELP, GO, NOW!"_

_ They disappeared; I could hear them yelling at one another, diving through the floorboards._

_ I dropped to my knees beside Remus, searching for the source of hemorrhage. It didn't take long to find it; three long slits on the inside of each arm. Bleeding profusely._

_ Desperately, I pressed my palms down to slow the blood flow. I dug my nails into the opposite side of his arms, pushing frantically against the crimson skin. I could feel my own nails breaking the skin of the front of his arms but I didn't dare to loosen my grip._

_ I felt tears slide down my cheeks; I removed one hand quickly, swiping deftly at the stinging salt. Blood was smeared across my face as well now._

_ Placing my hand back against Remus' arm, crying openly, I whispered, "…why would you want to leave us?"_

I swallow hard, pushing a sob down. A solitary, hushed tear falls crossways down my face but I let it go; it's only one.

He had been sent to St. Mungo's, raising questions of his disappearance back at school. We had visited him every possible chance we had until he awoke; and then still, until he returned home to our dormitory. The other members of Gryffindor had interrogated him intently; eventually, he had grown frustrated and announced, _"I made a stupid mistake that almost got me killed. My best friends saved my life. Please, I beg of you, let it go."_

So they did.

Ainslee had realized, of course, when we were sitting underneath the oak tree.

_"That was why…that was what he meant. When he said he made a stupid mistake."_

_"Yeah, Ains. That's what he meant."_

A shiver takes my body and lets it go in a split second; I sigh. "You're too bloody smart for your own good," I say brusquely to the figure in the chair by the window.

She's been sleeping, of course. After our conversation, we came back up to the common room, with the same excuse: homework.

I found, though, that she hasn't been getting much sleep lately. So when she drifted off – after about an hour of homework – I let her sleep.

"Uh, hi."

I glance up from the book – which is currently open to the same page as it was when Ainslee had first fallen asleep – and find myself staring into a pair of familiar blue eyes. "Oh, hey Remus." I shut the book. "What's going on?"

He stretches, collapsing on the couch beside me. "I'm exhausted – I couldn't sleep last night."

"You too?" I laugh wryly and point to Ainslee.

His face flushes promptly. "I didn't even see her there."

"She aims for that, I've noticed."

"Or rather, you _haven't_ noticed."

I grin guiltily. "No…she's always been too hard for me to miss."

Remus nods politely but I feel as if I've suddenly hit a bump in our steady flow of conversation. It is…unfortunate…but I know I have to tell him that Ainslee knows the truth. If I don't, and he finds out on his own that I've told her, the consequences would most certainly be dire. "Second year seems to be coming up a lot lately," I note aloud, "Don't you think?"

I can feel his muscles seizing up beside me and I don't look at him; I simply close my eyes and lay my head back against the couch cushions.

"Are you trying to spit something out, Padfoot? You might as well say it, you're much too suspenseful for your own good."

My mouth yanks downward. "You must tell me beforehand that you're not going to be angry with me."

"What have you done this time?" His manner is teasing but I hear an edge of fear in his voice.

"I'm serious. Promise me that you're not going to be angry," I repeat, looking extremely solemn.

After a moment's hesitation, he says, "I promise."

I inhale greatly, wringing my hands. "Well, uh…I'm incredibly sorry, mate, but I…told Ainslee…about what you did back in second year…" Silence answers me and I grow nervous; I do all I can to keep my eyes closed.

"So she knows that I tried to kill myself."

He says this with such ease that I flinch and open my eyes to inspect his face. He's completely rid of expression, blank and unnerving. "I—well, yes."

"That's all right, Padfoot, old boy."

This time, I can tell that his aforementioned 'effortlessness' is very forced. "Obviously not."

"Does she know _why_?"

I swing around, shock registering clearly on my face. "I know I let you down by telling her about it, but do you think I'd go as far as telling her _that_?"

He studies me with practiced void. Then – "Yeah. I-I know, Sirius." He frowns, looking rather regretful. "Who knows, I might have ended up telling her myself anyway."

"About your condition?" I ask in surprise.

"No, you dolt, about second year," he laughs tentatively.

I nod; yes, that makes a bit more sense.

His bitter voice comes again, then, quite suddenly. "I could _never_ tell her about my condition. You, of all people, should know that by _now_, Sirius."

**author's note; **indeed, this took way too long. terribly sorry (blushes), i haven't had many opportunities to get on this computer, i've been playing loads of sonic adventure for dreamcast, i've been out and about…and to be completely honest, i hate this chapter. i hate it passionately. it did not turn out the way i wanted whatsoever and i'm just glad it's over. i'll put forth more effort for the next chapter.


	9. illusionary

**eight; illusionary.**

_remus._

He means well, I convince myself. Besides, it's not as if he's told her about my state. After all, Sirius is faithful to us Marauders and I admit that I am a fool to believe otherwise. Loyalty is a value that we hold in high regard; to think that Sirius may have taken advantage of such a thing, so close to our hearts, is extremely disrespectful for me to do.

"Remus, you all right, mate?" James questions, watching me with worried hazel eyes.

I nod shyly, scratching my neck. "Sorry, Prongs. S'pose I've been a bit off this week."

"You've got girl on the brain."

I don't reply for a moment; acknowledgement that he has hit home. So what if I've been thinking about Ainslee all week? "As if you don't," I scoff after the regression.

James' cheeks glow; I grin. "Yes, well, I've given up on Lily Evans," he reveals to my horror.

"You're a ruddy liar, James Potter."

"Am not, I mean it this time," James shoots fiercely, crushing his fingers into a fist.

I gape at him, jaw hanging slightly. James has been taken with Lily since as long as I can recall; certainly, he wouldn't give in to rejection? "You're serious?" I query, voice weak.

He tips his head with confidence, smirking. "It's about time I faced up to the facts, Moony. Evans just hates me."

"Hate him?! Of _course_ I do!" A furious Lily shrieks at me.

I enclose my head in my hands, a sigh pushing between my lips. "Must you yell at me?"

Lily blinks, anger draining from her face. "Well-well, I'm sorry, but you seemed to think he was wrong and he most definitely was _not_."

"I know that now," I laugh dully.

"He's an awful, egomaniacal, selfish bastard who treats everyone that isn't a Marauder like the lowest form of dirt!" Lily spits indignantly, her hands on her hips.

"There's a low form of dirt?" I raise an eyebrow at her. "Look, I wouldn't bet on that if I were you, Lily. He's actually quite a nice guy if you would ever just give him a chance. Hell, even Ainslee knows that and she's only been on speaking terms with him for a week." Heat rises to my face when Ainslee's name slips into the conversation; I pray that Lily doesn't notice.

She doesn't; instead, she grinds her teeth. "I'm not sure what you're attempting or what you're trying to get at, Remus Lupin, but I sure as hell don't like it." With that, she stomps out of the library, evicting a warning look from Madame Pinch.

My fist crashes against my forehead, another heavy breath escaping.

Yesterday, after James' revelation, I had gotten to thinking. James isn't one to lie down and accept defeat. He is and always will be the only person I know – besides Sirius – that is stubborn enough to push on after something unexpected hits him.

So my genius mind hatched a seemingly brilliant plan to corner Lily in the library and inform her of the torture she is constantly putting James through. It appeared to be so much simpler this morning.

It, obviously, was more difficult to pull of than previously believed to be. I realize now that I wasn't quite sure as to how to approach the subject of James to Lily anyway; I should have planned a bit more fluently.

"She was in quite an awful mood, eh?"

A voice rings out over my shoulder; I swing around so quickly that I slip from my chair.

Ainslee holds out a hand, giggling. "Sorry for scaring you. Are you okay?"

"Fine," I reply, blushing in humiliation. I feel incredibly stupid. When I meet her gaze again, I take her hand and allow her to pull me back to my feet. "And you didn't _scare_ me, I was just a little startled," I recover valiantly.

Amusement crosses her features. "I see. Please accept my apologies for mixing the two up."

A half-smile steals my lips. "You're forgiven, Miss Bordeaux, without another thought to the matter."

I hope dearly that my imagination isn't tricking me when her cheeks burn red. She timidly dips her head toward the floor, hair forming a curtain in front of her eyes. "Oh good, I'm not sure what I would have done had you turned away my apology."

I look straight at her, appalled. "How could I not forgive you?"

The crimson in her cheeks spreads to her ears until her entire face is wearing the colour. "My charm only gets through a select few," her voice shakes a bit, as if she's trying to sound poised despite the embarrassing flush in her face.

I smile warmly. "Ah, so I must be one of your select few. You're always charming to me."

She beams at me with pleasure. "Wonderful. I'll have to use it to my advantage more often, if it works that well."

"Oh yes, wonderful indeed, now you know how to get almost anything out of me," I simper, attempting to twist my mouth into a frown and failing.

Her eyes scrutinize me innocently. "Oh, and there's something terribly wrong with that?"

"Of course there is, what if you want something like…answers to a test paper?" I say, knowing full well that she would never do such a thing.

She covers her mouth with her hand. "Remus Lupin! I'm not an amazing student and have nothing to brag about, certainly not, but not even I would stoop that low."

Instinctively, I wonder if I've truly offended her, until she removes her hand to expose her grin. "No, I would not imagine you doing such a thing. You're right."

An idea strikes me when she smiles like that; a smile I adore, admittedly, and would love to see again. "Say, Ainslee, what're you doing after class tomorrow?"

She appears surprised by the inquiry but says, "I have nothing planned. Why?"

I hesitate, teeth clamping on my bottom lip. "Well…I'd like to show you something, if you'll meet me at the front entrance after your last class."

Ainslee nibbles her thumbnail thoughtfully. "What are you up to?"

Smiling secretively, I rejoinder, "Come tomorrow and you'll find out."

She analyzes me with an unreadable expression, finally giving in. "All right. I'll see you then."

**author's note; **I know, I've been really bad with the updates lately. The thing is, I can't get online at my mom's house, and that's where I've been stuck for a while. I'll update when I can and I know they're going to be short because my head's been cluttered and congested, so my thoughts are all over the place – but hey, over 30 reviews! Not bad at all :"D well, like I said, sorry about all of this and I dearly hope you'll continue to read even though I've been lazy and unable to update :(


	10. journey

**nine; journey.**

_ainslee._

I have never been – and may very well never become – a patient person. So, after racing myself down the corridors, through the front entrance, and straight down the stairs into the pouring rain (which I had not been aware of until this point) to wait for Remus, I am still standing here shivering. It feels as if it has been ages since I was dismissed from Arithmancy but I know, in reality, it has only been about ten minutes that I've stood in the rain. I tilt my face upwards to watch the storm brewing.

The sky is reckless with anger. Blue cuts are ripping it open and rain is emptying from them like holy blood from the heavens. Thunder rolls from the wilting grey clouds. Some rays of sun somehow escape the depressing skyscrape and grace the land in the distance. Unfortunately, that is not the case here.

Here, I am drenched with the sky's blood. I have to close my eyes to it. For once, I feel at ease in my own vulnerability, and I smile.

I sense Remus' presence at my side, finally. I slowly come to face him. "So?" His features hold disappointment and I feel the smile fade from my face. "Didn't you have something you wanted to show me?"

A shrug; he frowns to his feet. "Well-well yes. But in this weather? It's pouring and cold."

The gentle smile returns. "If you don't mind my saying, I'm already soaked to the bone and I'm not going to get any drier if I stay outside."

Remus grins abruptly, as if Christmas has come early. "You still want to go?"

"Yeah," I laugh lightly, pinching his arm. "'Course I do."

After a thoughtful moment, he takes a hold of my hand. "Come on, then!"

Warmth spreads across my skin when he grabs my hand, like it's some sort of lifeline; my body quivers excitedly and I fight down a horde of giddy giggles. What is _wrong_ with me?

I hope he doesn't notice this change in my behaviour as he leads me by the hand across the grounds. We reached the edge of the Forbidden Forest and, startled, I pull back slightly when he attempts to draw me into the darkened trees. A panic button has automatically been set off in the back of my head as my stomach twists. I dig my heels into the dirt, pushing my wet hair from my face. "Where are we going?"

Remus raises his other hand, pressing his index finger against my lips and the warmth starts again (along with the insane flightiness). "You'll see," he winks jovially; my heart skips a few beats. I'm sure that can't possibly be healthy.

"Quite the charmer, eh?" I manage to smirk. "Taking lessons from Sirius?" Heat continues to ravage through my body; I am only trying to disguise my attraction to him.

Wait—_what_? That must have slipped, I can't possibly be attracted to Remus, I've only just been on speaking terms with him for a little over a week!

I shake my head fiercely, my hair slapping my cheeks and leaving little trails of rainwater.

"Ah, well, not exactly," he grins before I realize he's answering the question I had asked of him. "I'm taking a few of my own, actually."

"I see," I chuckle, digging my heels into the ground harder.

"Don't trust me?" He quirks his brows amusedly.

"I do, but--," I bit my lip, "I mean, isn't it dangerous?" I inspect the outskirts of the dark forest with disdain.

"Never thought Ainslee Bordeaux could get scared," he taunts, somehow knowing my weakness.

I swing my arm against his chest. "I'm not scared. I'm nervous. There's a difference, remember?"

"Yes, come to think of it," he says thoughtfully. "But you needn't worry, I'm here to protect you."

Vaguely comforted, and satisfied as well, I consent to him leading my forward again. After traveling for what seemed like hours and was obviously less than twenty minutes, stumbling repeatedly over various wooded items on the forest floor, and falling flat on my face at least once, we reach our destination (strangely more uphill than we had been previously…). The rain still seems to get through the thick ceiling of leaves.

Remus releases my hand, motioning for me to move forward. I do, and my feet slip a bit, so he throws an arm out in front of me to keep me from diving down the other side of a steep hill. At the foot of this hill lays a creek, twisting its way in and out of the trees, winding about them possessively.

The sight really is something; even in the rain, it's stunning to see in the middle of the forest I once believed to be haunted and incredibly dangerous. No, the beauty of this creek did not make the forest any less dangerous, but it certainly boasted an innocent side that the darkness hid away.

I let out my breath in awe. "This is…_wonderful_."

"Figured you'd like it," he replies, barely able to conceal how satisfied he is with himself.

"I love it," I admit readily, "I _love_ it!" I catch him blushing out of the corner of my eye and turn. "Hey, listen."

The colour fades from his cheeks and he meets my gaze. "Hm?"

"I…I just wanted to thank you. For everything, lately," I dip my head, losing his stare.

I listen to him laugh gently as he rummages around in his pockets. "Well, you're welcome. And—oh, where did I put that thing--…"

I raise my eyes to him again as he finally retrieves what he's been searching for; a small silver glint is shadowed by his hand, but he opens it and holds it out to me.

I pick it up, turning it over in my hands, the silver warming to my skin. It's a small pendant, with the image of a fairy adorned on one side and Greek lettering on the other. I point at the letters, eyebrows rising in question.

"Greek for 'magic'," he answers, though I have not said anything.

I smile. "It's really pretty. Where'd you get it?"

He slumps to the ground, looking weary and tired, and I fear I've said the wrong thing. Then he says, "My mum gave it to me. Before—before she died."

I sit down on the ground beside him, feeling faintly winded. "I-I'm sorry…" I mutter, not quite sure of what else to say. I offer him the pendant but he pushes my hand away tenderly.

"No. I want you to have it."

Unable to read the expression in his eyes, I merely nod. "Thanks…do you…can I ask—"

"How she died?"

Nibbling my bottom lip tentatively, I nod again.

"'Course you can ask. I'm just not sure of how to word the answer."

My eyes stray to the ground. "That's fine, it's none of my business anyway."

He shrugs, leaning back on his palms. "It's not that I don't want to tell you, because I do. It's hard to say."

"Take your time," I whisper, fingers absently playing with the pendant.

I feel his eyes glance over and land on the motions of my fingertips; after a moment, he says, "She was…very sick. My father and I cared for her as best as we could but—not too long after she was diagnosed, she…left by her own hand."

Immediately, I whip my head upwards. Sirius' confession concerning Remus' suicide attempt is the first thought to pass through my mind coherently and it almost slips from my mouth, but I crush my lips together with the effort of holding it back. "She--"

"Hung herself," he mumbles.

I evade tolerating the pained look on his face by trailing my eyes on the pendant again. "I, uh…I'm sorry…I shouldn't have asked, it's an invasion of your privacy--"

He surprises me with mirthless chortling. "Oh, please. Don't you worry so much, all right? You didn't know any better."

I grin, jumping to my feet. "Well, how about we lighten the mood a bit?"

Remus blinks up at me, confused.

Giggling lightly, I wave a hand at him and leap from the edge of the hill; weightlessness makes my head dizzy and my stomach grows nauseous until I smoothly enter the water below.

The creek is not as deep as I had originally thought it to be; my head dips underneath the water but my feet crash painfully against the rocks below. Fine, I agree, not the brightest idea I've come up with all day. But my school skirt, already drenched and weighing me down, is tangled around my legs and I kick fiercely for my head to break the surface.

"What the bloody hell is the matter with you?! Are you insane?!" Remus yells from the top of the hill.

Looking down at my school uniform, I cover my mouth with one hand. I carefully strip off the sweater and toss it to the shore, leaving simply my white blouse. My skirt is filled with water, bubbling up around my legs. I laugh at the ridiculous appearance. "S'pose I _am_ crazy. What does that make _you_ for being my friend?!"

A manufactured thunderstruck look crosses his face. "Positively out of my mind!"

"And how do you call yourself a Marauder if you won't join me for a swim?" I ask, laying the pendant down on top of my sweater and continuing with an endeavor to splash him; I fail miserably; the water wets the dirt roughly five feet underneath his toes.

"A _swim_? It's the middle of a storm!" He says, horrified.

Heat creeps through my body; I glance up at him again.

Maybe I really _am_ attracted to Remus Lupin…

**author's note; **woot. Yes, this chapter has finally arrived. And now I've gotta run because I'm going out for dinner…ehehe. Thanks to everyone who has reviewed!


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